Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 12
‘Tell me…’ she finally managed to say. ‘Tell me he was short with red hair.’
Kerensa shook her head, tears spotted all down her cheeks.
‘Nooo,’ she said. ‘He was Brazilian. Six foot four. Quite hairy. Very hairy. Dark hairy.’
‘Fuck a duck,’ said Polly. ‘And can’t you find out?’
‘Not till he’s born,’ said Kerensa.
Silence fell.
‘Did he look hairy on the scan?’ asked Polly finally.
‘It’s actually quite hard to tell,’ said Kerensa.
And they sat there letting their tea get cold.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Huckle said later. ‘How’s Kerensa? We should have them over.’
‘No we shouldn’t,’ said Polly. She was making stollen, and kneading it far more than it actually required, just for the happy thump of dough on wood, taking out her mood on it a little bit.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Huckle. She hadn’t seemed quite herself since he’d first mentioned this stupid wedding again, and the baby thing. He didn’t normally rush anything in his life; he hadn’t thought he was rushing this. He’d had a little vision of Polly pregnant, round and glowing like the moon; how beautiful she would look… and now she was hammering the bread board like she wanted to karate-chop it in two.
‘Nothing. Busy. Work,’ she said.
She knew this was unfair, and not a nice way to talk to Huck, but she couldn’t help it. Kerensa had sworn her to deepest darkest blood secrecy for ever, particularly from Huckle. It would be beyond awful if he felt he had to tell Reuben. It was the kind of black-and-white way men looked at things, Polly thought: that it would be too unfair if a man had to raise a child who might possibly not be his own, even though the statistics suggested that that was the case for quite a lot of babies.
On the other hand, the entire situation was just a disaster. And even though it wasn’t Polly’s direct disaster, it felt strangely somehow as though it was; that into their safe, cosy little world a wolf had come, quietly padding over the snow in the dark woods of winter and lying down just outside their door.
Chapter Six
After a week, Huckle was still worried about Polly’s mood. She seemed withdrawn and a little strange about things. He hoped it wasn’t him. She had hurled herself into work with abandon. Perhaps it was his suggestion that they try for a baby. He’d thought it was a great idea. After all, surely it was the natural next stage? He’d made his decision; he’d crossed the world and decided to make his home here – a bit cold and draughty, but they could handle that. He loved their life, and he would love a baby. To Huckle, life was pretty simple. He just couldn’t understand why Polly was so confused.
Polly felt horrible, like her stomach had dropped out. She couldn’t imagine what Kerensa must be going through. She wanted to call her, text her, but she couldn’t think of the words. She was having trouble sleeping, which wasn’t like her at all – Polly slept like the dead normally, as Huckle had had cause to point out. And she could understand, couldn’t she? People made mistakes. Life was made up of loads of mistakes.
But she thought of Reuben, and his many, many kindnesses to her – he’d sent her the oven to start up in her first ever bakery; he’d supported her when she’d gone out on a limb and bought a van; even when he didn’t have any money, he’d always been there for them, however annoying he might be sometimes.
How could she stand by and watch him care for a new baby that might not be his; that might not look anything like him? To be complicit in all that deception? And it could last for years. She wished in a way that Kerensa hadn’t told her.
But then she’d told her because she’d needed a friend – really really needed one. This was a true test of friendship. And Polly was failing it, right here, not even picking up the phone.
‘You look like you’ve lost a penny and found a farthing,’ said Jayden, bagging up a large collection of Empire biscuits. ‘I have no idea what that means, but my grandmother always says it and I don’t think it’s good.’
‘Oh, just lots on my mind,’ said Polly.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Jayden. ‘They’ve started on you already, haven’t they? They’ve got to you.’
‘What do you mean? Who’s got to me?’
‘For the Christmas fair.’
‘What Christmas fair?’
Jayden stared at her.
‘Where were you last year?’
‘I went to my mum’s. What are you talking about?’
‘The Christmas fair,’ intoned Jayden seriously. ‘Highlight of the Mount Polbearne social calendar. Revived, as all these things are, by Samantha and her All-Cornwall Social Committee.’
‘I should have guessed,’ said Polly. ‘What is it?’
The bell on the door rang and Samantha herself bustled in.
‘Ah, Polly!’ she said, beaming. ‘I hoped I’d catch you.’
Polly didn’t point out that there was absolutely nowhere else she was likely to be.
‘Hi, Samantha,’ she said. ‘Hello, Marina.’
The toddler looked up from her buggy and grinned gummily. She had inherited Henry’s high colour, but it rather suited her; she was a rosy-cheeked, bonny little thing.
‘Now!’ said Samantha. ‘Here’s the thing. We’re reviving the Christmas fair.’
‘So I hear,’ said Polly.
‘She’s been miserable about it all morning,’ chipped in Jayden.
‘Excuse me, I have not!’ said Polly. Jayden and Samantha exchanged looks.
‘So I wondered if perhaps I can put you down for a stall?’ said Samantha.
‘Um, what would that entail?’ said Polly.
‘Well, just what you normally do, but up in the village hall.’
Polly looked at her. ‘And I give you all the money?’
‘Well, quite, that’s the point.’
‘And it’s on a Saturday?’
Samantha nodded. ‘Yes! Then we get lots of people visiting from the mainland and they can do their Christmas shopping, do you see? We’re going to have all sorts – craft stalls and books and bric-a-brac!’
Polly nodded. The thing was, craft stalls and books and bric-a-brac were absolutely great and fine and everything, but this would be a whole day’s profits she’d be expected to donate, and it was tough enough to stay afloat as it was.
Kerensa shook her head, tears spotted all down her cheeks.
‘Nooo,’ she said. ‘He was Brazilian. Six foot four. Quite hairy. Very hairy. Dark hairy.’
‘Fuck a duck,’ said Polly. ‘And can’t you find out?’
‘Not till he’s born,’ said Kerensa.
Silence fell.
‘Did he look hairy on the scan?’ asked Polly finally.
‘It’s actually quite hard to tell,’ said Kerensa.
And they sat there letting their tea get cold.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Huckle said later. ‘How’s Kerensa? We should have them over.’
‘No we shouldn’t,’ said Polly. She was making stollen, and kneading it far more than it actually required, just for the happy thump of dough on wood, taking out her mood on it a little bit.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Huckle. She hadn’t seemed quite herself since he’d first mentioned this stupid wedding again, and the baby thing. He didn’t normally rush anything in his life; he hadn’t thought he was rushing this. He’d had a little vision of Polly pregnant, round and glowing like the moon; how beautiful she would look… and now she was hammering the bread board like she wanted to karate-chop it in two.
‘Nothing. Busy. Work,’ she said.
She knew this was unfair, and not a nice way to talk to Huck, but she couldn’t help it. Kerensa had sworn her to deepest darkest blood secrecy for ever, particularly from Huckle. It would be beyond awful if he felt he had to tell Reuben. It was the kind of black-and-white way men looked at things, Polly thought: that it would be too unfair if a man had to raise a child who might possibly not be his own, even though the statistics suggested that that was the case for quite a lot of babies.
On the other hand, the entire situation was just a disaster. And even though it wasn’t Polly’s direct disaster, it felt strangely somehow as though it was; that into their safe, cosy little world a wolf had come, quietly padding over the snow in the dark woods of winter and lying down just outside their door.
Chapter Six
After a week, Huckle was still worried about Polly’s mood. She seemed withdrawn and a little strange about things. He hoped it wasn’t him. She had hurled herself into work with abandon. Perhaps it was his suggestion that they try for a baby. He’d thought it was a great idea. After all, surely it was the natural next stage? He’d made his decision; he’d crossed the world and decided to make his home here – a bit cold and draughty, but they could handle that. He loved their life, and he would love a baby. To Huckle, life was pretty simple. He just couldn’t understand why Polly was so confused.
Polly felt horrible, like her stomach had dropped out. She couldn’t imagine what Kerensa must be going through. She wanted to call her, text her, but she couldn’t think of the words. She was having trouble sleeping, which wasn’t like her at all – Polly slept like the dead normally, as Huckle had had cause to point out. And she could understand, couldn’t she? People made mistakes. Life was made up of loads of mistakes.
But she thought of Reuben, and his many, many kindnesses to her – he’d sent her the oven to start up in her first ever bakery; he’d supported her when she’d gone out on a limb and bought a van; even when he didn’t have any money, he’d always been there for them, however annoying he might be sometimes.
How could she stand by and watch him care for a new baby that might not be his; that might not look anything like him? To be complicit in all that deception? And it could last for years. She wished in a way that Kerensa hadn’t told her.
But then she’d told her because she’d needed a friend – really really needed one. This was a true test of friendship. And Polly was failing it, right here, not even picking up the phone.
‘You look like you’ve lost a penny and found a farthing,’ said Jayden, bagging up a large collection of Empire biscuits. ‘I have no idea what that means, but my grandmother always says it and I don’t think it’s good.’
‘Oh, just lots on my mind,’ said Polly.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Jayden. ‘They’ve started on you already, haven’t they? They’ve got to you.’
‘What do you mean? Who’s got to me?’
‘For the Christmas fair.’
‘What Christmas fair?’
Jayden stared at her.
‘Where were you last year?’
‘I went to my mum’s. What are you talking about?’
‘The Christmas fair,’ intoned Jayden seriously. ‘Highlight of the Mount Polbearne social calendar. Revived, as all these things are, by Samantha and her All-Cornwall Social Committee.’
‘I should have guessed,’ said Polly. ‘What is it?’
The bell on the door rang and Samantha herself bustled in.
‘Ah, Polly!’ she said, beaming. ‘I hoped I’d catch you.’
Polly didn’t point out that there was absolutely nowhere else she was likely to be.
‘Hi, Samantha,’ she said. ‘Hello, Marina.’
The toddler looked up from her buggy and grinned gummily. She had inherited Henry’s high colour, but it rather suited her; she was a rosy-cheeked, bonny little thing.
‘Now!’ said Samantha. ‘Here’s the thing. We’re reviving the Christmas fair.’
‘So I hear,’ said Polly.
‘She’s been miserable about it all morning,’ chipped in Jayden.
‘Excuse me, I have not!’ said Polly. Jayden and Samantha exchanged looks.
‘So I wondered if perhaps I can put you down for a stall?’ said Samantha.
‘Um, what would that entail?’ said Polly.
‘Well, just what you normally do, but up in the village hall.’
Polly looked at her. ‘And I give you all the money?’
‘Well, quite, that’s the point.’
‘And it’s on a Saturday?’
Samantha nodded. ‘Yes! Then we get lots of people visiting from the mainland and they can do their Christmas shopping, do you see? We’re going to have all sorts – craft stalls and books and bric-a-brac!’
Polly nodded. The thing was, craft stalls and books and bric-a-brac were absolutely great and fine and everything, but this would be a whole day’s profits she’d be expected to donate, and it was tough enough to stay afloat as it was.
